Keeping the Faith
by clumsy.carrie
Summary: Jeff's always known that Alan's been underestimated by his brothers, but Jeff has to confront these insecurities as Alan loses contact with TB 5. Set during the 2004 movie. ONESHOT


Hey Guys!

This is my first ever thunderbirds fanfic...and I don't know that much about the thunderbirds, I'll be the first to admit. I've only ever seen the 2004 movie, which I realize is kind of accepted as a crappy remake, but I've read a lot of stuff up here and have a pretty basic understanding of most of the big events on the TV show. brief question, though--2004 movie has Lucy Tracy dead in a cave collapse (?) while I've read everything from avalanches (Several of those, by different authors, so that's what I'm sticking with until contradicted) to dead in childbirth. Either way, Lucy's always passed away by the time Alan's about four, I think. and I'm also unclear on age differences, though I believe they're never specified, though correct me if I'm wrong. for the purposes of this story, though:

Alan-14

Gordon-19

John-23

Virgil-24

Scott-28

I think this is the order (or at least an acceptable version) of the brothers, but if that's wrong, feel free to correct me. i always appreciate constructive criticism.

xoxoxo

..

Jeff's baby boy was down there.

Alan. What kind of hell was he in that everyone capable—Scott, John, Virgil, himself, hey, even Gordon, the goofball—was away from the disaster, leaving his fourteen-year-old in the middle of it? How could any kind of deity allow this to occur?

Jeff blinked at the sudden build up of moisture in his eyes, as he stared at the recently darkened screen. His baby boy was trying to save the world down there, and everyone was up here. And staying.

Jeff slammed his fist down on the dashboard in front of him, lowering his head as he struggled with this information. Alan was his baby. The kid was his mother reborn, Jeff swore—sometimes Alan would even make this particular facial expression, and suddenly, _wham_. Lucy was standing beside him again. But Alan was so his own person, too—stubborn and moody as hell and Jeff's little boy, always, no matter the fact that he was in high school now.

"Alan's alone down there with them." Scott murmured, and Jeff pressed his lips together, already overwhelmed by his silent grief. His baby boy.

Scott grabbed the bar that ran along the bottom of the dashboard and crouched down, pressing his forehead against the cold bar, and Jeff put a hand on the back of his eldest son's head, trying to convey as much comfort as he possibly could. To Scott, Alan was his son—Scott had been fourteen when Alan was born, eighteen as his mother died and left the four-year-old for Jeff to raise. Jeff remembered his panic, three years later, as he looked fondly over some tapes saved from the boys' performances, plays, report cards and the like, when he realized that he had nothing—_nothing_–for Alan. And he'd gone to Scott, who had presented him with a box full of Alan things. And Jeff swore to himself he would be the little boy's father.

But Scott still loved Alan like a son.

"Tintin's there." Gordon said faintly, his words optimistic but his tone dismal. Even Jeff's little soldier wasn't keeping up appearances, not really. Jeff swallowed, remembering a time where he'd wondered if his nineteen-year-old ever lost his incredible faith in the world. Evidently, this was the end of his second youngest's innocence. "And Fermat."

"Fermat's more of a kid than Alan is, even." Virgil murmured tiredly, pushing away from the dashboard and moving over to a different seat. "The kid's barely thirteen. And Tintin's got, literally, no training. At least Alan's been stalking every move we've made for the last few years." Virgil sank down into the seat, putting his face in his hands. "They're trapped on that island, Dad."

"Lady Penelope--" Gordon began, his voice almost dead, now.

"Is walking into a trap that'll have her caught up for at least as long as it will take for us to fix this." Virgil finished, waving his hands to gesture the ship, his voice a grim monotone, now. "Allie's screwed." These words, the use of his son's nickname that had laid unused for so long—they spurred Jeff into action. They reminded Jeff that while his youngest son was in the throes of a crisis, his other boys weren't exactly in the clear. And the truth was, Alan wasn't screwed, not yet. He was in some serious trouble—understatement of the year—but he was alive. And with alive, you still had _something_.

"Never say that again." Jeff said briskly, turning to his second-oldest son with a reprimanding glare. The words had helped Jeff the first time, but if Virgil said them again, Jeff knew he'd have no choice but to believe them. "We've got to have faith—"

"In what, exactly, Dad?" Scott demanded, straightening up and turning to his father. Jeff normally would have taken offense, but he knew Scott wasn't being contradictory, he was being desperate. He wanted an answer.

"In your _brother_." Jeff told Scott fiercely. "Alan's young, yes, but he is a Thunderbird and moreover he is a Tracy and so are all of you. And if we are a team, if we are _family_, we will trust each other with our lives, regardless of age." Jeff hadn't exactly planned that speech, nor would he really swear by what he said—had he been able to switch one of his older boys with Alan, at this point in time, he would—but it sounded good enough to pass, so he nodded once and turned to Virgil. "Go get a med pack." He ordered Virgil in his commander voice, and Virgil, wordlessly, turned towards the supply closet. Jeff took a deep breath as his boys each turned back to their portions of the dashboard and began to try to reestablish a connection with Alan through his watch.

"By your reasoning, we should have trusted Gordon to handle the situation when he climbed in the tank with the Sea Lions at the Central Park Zoo in New York, that one—" Scott began after a moment, and Jeff reached over to smack the back of his eldest's head, forcing the younger man into silence. Gordon cackled, throwing his head back, and Virgil smirked while he returned from the closet, a large bag in his hand. Even John, almost unconscious and slumped in his chair with his broken arm splayed across his chest, cracked a smile.

Jeff had faith in his boys. They could get through this.

...

Or maybe not.

Jeff just wasn't sure. Not as he watched his son slide across the floor of the Bank of London, the hood's controlling gaze fixed on the boy, and Jeff wondered _how the hell this man had been undetected for the last ten years_. Jeff's heart pounded in his throat, adrenaline and panic muffling his hearing as he just kept his gaze focused on his little boy, his hands wrapped around the bars of his metal cage. And Jeff couldn't help but wonder, as he had wondered only twice before, if this was the end of one of his boys. The first time, when the avalanche crushed Lucy and Alan—Lucy'd been dead from the first second they'd found her. Alan's pulse had been difficult to find and then he'd had a subdural hematoma, on a ventilator for a week and then in the Pediatric ICU for another two before Jeff had brought his plaster-wrapped baby boy home. The second time had been Gordon's hydrofoil accident—he'd wondered, that time, whether that was the end of IR as well. Just because Jeff wasn't sure whether the boys would have the heart to go on without one of their own.

Now though. Alan's death would be the end of them all.

But Tintin—God bless the girl—saved him. With her mental abilities, inherited from her uncle, the very same man trying to kill Jeff's baby. But Tintin saved him, and he was sort of alright, once Fermat stopped the mole and Alan climbed down. And Jeff hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's head and screwing the fact that he had tears in his eyes. His baby boy had just saved people. Lots of people. And nearly been killed. And been saved by the girl that Jeff strongly suspected Alan had a crush on, somewhere within his emotionally stunted self.

Alan was a person now. Not just the little boy who had toddled around the house, his numerous older brothers keeping a watchful eye on him despite the extensive baby proofing; not just the little boy who Jeff had kept in his arms for most of the two days following Lucy's death, too scared to let the boy into the wheel chair his broken leg had confined him to. Not just the little boy that Jeff had somehow lost in the years following that, that Scott had helped him find.

Jeff watched his other sons clap Alan on the back, or, in Gordon and Scott's cases, wrap him in giant hugs, and felt a surge of pride well in his chest: he'd been right to have pride in his youngest, even if the circumstances had been scary and the stakes too high to consider properly. Alan was an incredible kid. He'd somehow gotten them through this.

Jeff was fairly sure his sons would never doubt their youngest member again.


End file.
